Auld Lang Syne
by Periapt
Summary: Bialar Crais survived the destruction of Talyn and made a new life for himself. Now his past has found him.


AULD LANG SYNE  
By Periapt  
This story was inspired by and is written as a sequel to the excellent MOON SHADOWS by valleyforge. She has graciously granted me the use of the unique characters places and events found in her work. Of course, Farscape and its unique characters, places and events belong to Henson, et al and I hope for their indulgence, since I acquire no money or other tangible proceeds from this work. All I get is the fun and/or aggravation of writing and re-writing it, and the ego boost that comes when (if?) folks let me know they have enjoyed it.  
While I believe the story can be read and enjoyed on its own, I strongly recommend first reading MOON SHADOWS which tells the story of what happened to Bialar Crais after "Wolf in Sheep's Clothing". It can be found on this site under valleyforge in the Farscape list.  
  
Finally, I must pay homage to Robert Burns, who wrote the title song.  
-=-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
Kender Dauscho entered the Station Master's office and dropped wearily into a chair. "I need a drink," he groaned, rubbing his temples, "and a vacation. Do you realize I haven't had a vacation in over two cycles?"  
  
Talyn Crais, Master of Tah's orbital Commerce Station, regarded his son-in-law. "Why don't you take one?" he asked. "Reena would love it, and the children aren't growing any younger. Before you know it, they'll be off on their own and..."  
  
"You, of all people, should know I can't leave now. We handle all space commerce for Tah and are the major trans-shipment center for the entire sector. And, since the Peacekeepers and the Scarrans finally beat each other into submission, traffic has gone up steadily. The last docking expansion helped, but until the new Leviathan terminal is completed, I'll have to run double shifts anytime we get more than one in at a time. Right now I've got three, with another inbound!"  
  
"The price of success," sighed Talyn, rising from his chair and moving to an alcove with a small but well-stocked bar. "Well, at least you can have that drink... Raslak?"  
  
"I'd love one," said Kender with a faint smile.  
  
"Anything for my Cargo Master," said Talyn as he poured two generous portions. He handed one to Kender and raised the other. "To Success."  
  
"To the new terminal," replied Kender... a long sip... "Ahhh! That is one fine drink. So-when will the new terminal be completed?"  
  
Talyn snorted. "Depends on funding. Damned politicians are so busy keeping their constituents happy they can't see this station for what it is: The cornerstone of our future! All the old trade routes have been disrupted by the Peacekeeper-Scarran wars, and we are the only going concern in this part of space. That's a priceless advantage, but it won't last forever!"  
  
"So how do we convince them to act before we lose the opportunity?" asked Kender.  
"As it happens," replied Talyn, "a special commission has been appointed to look into the matter. They'll be arriving here tomorrow for an on-site inspection. I'll need you to show them around our cargo operations."  
  
"Oh, great!" said Kender, rolling his eyes. "Just what I need... babysitting a bunch of grounders. I wonder what kind of brain-dead data-pusher they picked to head up this little troupe?"  
  
"I believe you know him," grinned Talyn. "His name is Bialar Crais."  
  
Sputtering, Kender sat bolt upright. "Bialar Crais... coming here? I thought he was retired. Hezmana, he hasn't been off-planet in over twenty cycles!"  
  
"I understand he asked for the job," said Talyn. "Apparently he wants to get into space one last time."  
  
"Is he Ill? I hadn't heard," said Kender, suddenly worried. "Is it serious?"  
  
"It's serious enough," said Talyn, gazing out the view port at the Leviathans awaiting service. "It's called nostalgia."  
-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
Bialar Crais leaned back in his seat on the passenger shuttle and watched his adopted Home World fall away as they lifted towards the commerce station. The mottled yellows and greens of the swamps and marshes were separated here and there by sluggish, meandering rivers, and punctuated by the deep hues of the Green Havens and scattered areas of blue, open water. The Southern Ocean and the Northern ice fields were still beyond the horizon. Indeed, it all looked much as it had when he first saw it over half a lifetime ago, fighting to land his damaged transport pod, having run afoul of a swarm of Draegen, an insectoid race bent on conquest and colonization through extermination of the planet's inhabitants.  
  
What a tortuous path he had followed to this place. A Sebacean farm boy, conscripted by the Peacekeepers, he rose to high rank only to throw it all away pursuing an unjust vendetta, fueled by pride. Finally he and his beloved leviathan gunship, Talyn, had offered up their lives in sacrifice to destroy Scorpius' Command Carrier. Talyn had perished, and Crais, feeling that his debts had been paid and content to be "dead" left in search of a new life and a place where his past could not find him.  
  
Crais shook his head in wonder at the irony of it all. His arrival on Tah was an unplanned and unwanted detour en route to a different destination entirely. But if the old Bialar Crais had chosen to die along with Talyn, fate decreed that the new would be born here, in the crucible of the Draegen war of genocide.  
  
His memories of those terrible days, so long ago, had plagued his sleep for many cycles. In time, however, their power had waned. Now they kept their place, mere shadows of those desperate times. So, too, the Draegen had been rendered harmless. They had barely survived the plague left behind when the few surviving people of Tah had fled into exile. The Draegen were now planet bound, and their world was ringed with warships that allowed nothing to leave the atmosphere.  
  
When the exiles returned to Tah, they found themselves in possession of a ravaged planet. Faced with such devastation, they smiled, rolled up their sleeves, and set about rebuilding their world.  
  
If anything remained of the old Bialar Crais, it was an abhorrence of a job unfinished. On Tah he saw a job big enough to last a lifetime. And here no one cared about his past. To them it was what he did and had done for Tah that mattered.  
  
Of course, there was Toma Masahje, and the children, who filled the empty spaces he had not known, or admitted, were there. In them, he found serenity such as he had never known. Through them, he re-discovered the warmth and sense of family dimly remembered from life on his parents' farm.  
  
"You ain't no farmer," his friend, and now brother-in-law Ke'air once said to him.  
  
Ke'air was right. The Peacekeepers had seen to that. But he was also wrong. Bialar had helped to plant the seeds of a nation that had grown strong and prosperous, standing high in the eyes of the sector. Now the post-war generations of Tah stood to share in the bounty of the harvest.  
  
But first, a bit more cultivation, and perhaps a few eemas to kick in the Assembly! Difficult as it was to believe, there were members of the assembly who could not do simple arithmetic. So it fell to Crais to convince them that two plus two did, indeed, equal four.  
  
Of course, his presence, and this trip to the station were not really necessary. The evidence was plain and the figures incontrovertible. The Leviathan terminal was vital to the growth of the economy. But when he heard that Chairwoman Shaya DuSett was appointing a commission to study the situation, he contacted her immediately and recommended an inspection of the station. He then said he would be available, if necessary, to head the team.  
  
Shaya wasn't the least bit fooled. "Itching to get into space again, Bialar," she said with a barely suppressed chuckle. "And at government expense too." A broad smile creased her face. "What the hez! We owe you at least that much... and a bit of window dressing won't hurt. Enjoy yourself. Take a few days to look around and make your report. We'll get the appropriation passed."  
  
Shaya had been right; Crais missed being in space, and since the death of his wife and his retirement from the university he'd felt a growing desire to go up again. But it wasn't boredom, or grief, or a desire for one last adventure that moved him. It was the Leviathans.  
  
Once rarely seen in Sector 12, their numbers had increased since the end of the Scarran-Peacekeeper conflict. The images of the vast, gentle Bio-mechanoid ships had awakened old memories, and a few ghosts... ghosts he hoped to lay to rest.  
-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
Ravager fell towards Tah, its long wait in the darkness nearly over. About the size of a personal ground transport, it was what might be called a Brilliant Weapon. It had been launched over a hundred cycles ago by a dying and desperate invader to inflict a last measure of pain and death upon those who had denied them their prize.  
  
Victory had been sweet. The vermin infesting the planet had been exterminated except for a few, which were hunted for sport. Some had escaped off-planet, but they were of no consequence. The chemical and bio scans were completed, and the colonists came in their millions.  
  
The planet was everything their leaders had promised. The nests were built, crops were planted, and the larvae were hatched and tended. The Draegen beheld the bounty of their new home, and saw that it was good. And with the coming of the harvest, the Callah burst into bloom, spewing their virus-laden pollen into the air, and the Draegen reaped that which they had sown.  
  
The tailored virus multiplied rapidly and the victims became infectious days before the first symptoms appeared. It began with minor clumsiness, followed by involuntary twitching and impaired concentration. These quickly progressed to delirium and uncontrollable thrashing until the victim suddenly stiffened in death.  
  
The ships in orbit fled in panic abandoning the colonists to their fate. En route they received word of outbreaks in the major ports of the home world... and when the first crewmen fell, twitching, they knew they were all going to die.  
  
Aboard the invasion flagship, adrift for want of sufficient crew to operate it, the weapons officer seethed with hatred. The plague was clearly a bio-weapon, but the medics had died before they could develop a defense. So the vermin had won the war. Well, he would see that they choked on their victory!  
  
A stealthy reconnaissance drone was modified and loaded with missiles. It was programmed to lie in wait until the refugees returned, and destroy the largest vessels: the ones with the most people on board.  
  
Struggling against the twitching and the growing mental fog, the weapons officer completed the programming. With grim satisfaction he christened his creation, and launched it towards its destiny.  
  
That destiny had been long in coming. A programming error had placed the weapon in an elongated elliptical orbit, where it patiently awaited the chance to deliver its cargo of mayhem. Now it was coming to life, but time and chance encounters with meteoroids had taken their toll on Ravager's systems. While it had attitude control, propulsion was gone. Sensors had degraded severely, limiting the drone's ability to attack multiple or distant targets. But, as luck would have it, the largest target of all was in synchronous orbit above the planet, and directly in front of the onrushing drone. Ravager's fire-control computer immediately decided to launch its entire arsenal against that target as soon as it came within range.  
  
The Draegen weapons officer knew nothing of this. He and his shipmates still rode their lifeless vessel into the vastness of the universe, awaiting the end of eternity.  
-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
Lyssta Delam's strong, elegant face twisted into a scowl at the message from Docking Control. "Say again, please?" she asked.  
  
"This is Tah Station-1 Docking Control. All docking cradles in the freight terminal are in use. You are assigned to docking cradle 131 in the passenger terminal. You are to hold short until priority traffic has docked in cradle 133."  
  
Lyssta acknowledged and headed for her assigned position.  
  
"Frell," she muttered when she saw the large commercial shuttle setting up for the cradle. "This is going to take forever!" Despite her frustration, she could tell that the pilot of the shuttle knew his business. Every move was precise. But only a fool would rush things with something as large as that, so every move was also slow.  
  
She had been sent ahead to make sure the promised refrigeration containers were ready for their perishable cargo, and she would be docking late, and on the other side of the station from where she needed to be. If anything went wrong with this cargo, someone's eema was going to burn... and it wouldn't be hers!  
  
In the meantime all she could do was stew, and wait for clearance to dock.  
-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
Crais had dozed off in his seat. A gentle touch roused him and he looked up to see the shuttle's pilot grinning down at him.  
  
"Can I get you anything?" asked the pilot. "A stimulant, perhaps?"  
  
"Aren't you supposed to be flying this thing, Captain?" asked Crais.  
  
"It's all right, Grandfather," said Ronlar Crais. "We're docked. The others have left; I told them there were family matters to discuss. Your baggage and accommodations have been taken care of and Kender Dauscho is waiting to take you to Uncle Talyn's office."  
  
Crais rose and followed his grandson towards the docking hatch. Ronlar was the youngest of three sons born to Talyn's twin brother, Tauvo. Like his father and uncle, he was tall, handsome, and a superb pilot. Free of any attachments, he hoped to gain a position with one of the new commerce lines springing up in the aftermath of the PK-Scarran war. Crais had no doubt that Ronlar would be an asset to anyone who signed him on.  
-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
"You are cleared to dock at cradle 131."  
  
"About frelling time," Lyssta growled to herself. That shuttle had been in the cradle for nearly a quarter arn! Ignoring the controller's squawk of protest, shot straight at the docking cradle, did a quick half turn to brake, the spun back again and settled into the docking cradle with out so much as a bump. Nodding in satisfaction, she secured the pod and went to the airlock to await the boarding tube.  
-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
Kender rose as Bialar and Ronlar exited the boarding tube. "Welcome to Tah Station-1. I trust Ronlar gave you a smooth ride?"  
  
"Best I've had in the past 20 cycles," said Crais with a smile.  
  
The men embraced one another and moved towards the main terminal, laughing and catching up on family affairs.  
  
At the next gate, Crais was nearly bowled over by a dark haired Sebacean woman who burst out of the loading tube in an obvious hurry. "Can you tell me the quickest way to the freight terminal office?" she asked. "I need to get there immediately!"  
  
"As it happens," said Ronlar, "I'm going there myself. There's a bypass tube used to transport baggage and supplies between terminals. If you want, we can go that way and get there in half the time."  
  
She gratefully accepted the offer and she and Ronlar departed down the access ramp to the bypass.  
  
"`As it happens, I'm going there myself,'" snorted Kender.  
  
"She is very pretty," observed Crais, laughing, "and Ronlar is ever one to help a beauty in distress."  
-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
As Crais and Kender turned to go, Ravager came within range of its target and activated the firing sequence. Despite its age, the first missile launched perfectly. The second had not fared so well and the launch charge blew back, igniting the other missiles. With a brilliant flash, Ravager turned into an expanding cloud of debris.  
  
But the one missile, like the Angel of Death, streaked inexorably towards the passenger terminal of Tah Station-1.  
-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
In the traffic control center, the approach controller saw the expanding cloud of debris appear on his screen. He turned to the Colonial Peacekeeper on system security watch. "Jenn, you see that?"  
  
"Yeah. Looks like... holy frell! Incoming missile," she shouted into the comm., and simultaneously slapped the shield and collision alarm buttons.  
  
Microts later the entire station shuddered as a blinding flash enveloped the passenger terminal.  
-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
The flash subsided to reveal a scene of utter chaos. Half the passenger terminal was gone. The passenger shuttle was torn open and a section of the station with a transport pod still attached was tumbling away towards the planet.  
  
One of the Leviathans had Starburst away. A trail of debris apparently pulled along in its wake stretched to the edge of the system, and beyond. Of the bypass tube, there was no trace.  
-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
Bialar Crais awoke to a dull pressure in his ears that muffled his hearing. A wetness on his left cheek proved to be blood from a laceration near his eye. It did not seem to be bleeding badly.  
  
His last memory was of the sudden shrieking of the station alarms. He had turned to see the emergency partitions slam shut and then a massive jolt had thrown him headlong into the bulkhead. Now the concourse was in disarray and lit dimly by the emergency lights. He yawned, clearing his ears with a pop, and his hearing improved. He became aware of a distant hissing sound.  
  
"Kender?" he called.  
  
"Over here!" came the reply, "I'm stuck!"  
  
A large console had torn loose and pinned Kender's right leg. Crais managed to locate a piece of debris he could use as a lever and freed the younger man's leg. By this time the pressure in his ears had returned, so he cleared them again.  
  
"We've got to get out of here," said Crais urgently.  
  
"I know," said Kender, clearing his own ears, "but where do we go?" He pointed to the observation port, which offered intermittent views of the damaged station as they rotated. Already several Metras distant, it was visibly receding.  
  
"There," said Crais, pointing towards a dimly illuminated docking hatchway with the number 131 glowing greenly above it. The telltale indicated a vessel was in the docking cradle and the hatch was locked.  
  
They made their way to the hatch, Kender limping.  
  
"I guess this qualifies as an emergency," Kender said, grasping the Emergency Unlock handle. "I don't suppose Ronlar's new friend will mind if we borrow her transport... that is if she's still alive," he added somberly. He yanked the handle and the hatch slid open to the hooting of an alarm and the red flashing of security lights.  
  
Bialar moved quickly to the controls and started the pre-launch sequence. Kender followed more slowly, his knee visibly swollen. Before leaving, Crais left the pod to see if there were any other survivors. He found only one person. The steward from Ronlar's shuttle lay with his neck at an impossible angle, his eyes glazed in death.  
  
Crais hurried back inside. Shaking his head in response to Kender's questioning glance, he released the docking clamps and backed away to a safe distance. He set up a return to the station and activated the main drive. The pod immediately snapped into a spin, and he shut down the drive.  
  
Repeated attempts yielded the same result, and the autopilot could not overcome the yaw. Apparently the drive vanes had been damaged in the explosion.  
  
In disgust, Crais tried to send a distress call, but the same thing that had deformed the drive vanes had damaged the comm. emitters as well. He reached out and activated the distress beacon. The bright glow of its indicator did little to diminish the cold feeling that was growing in the pit of his stomach.  
  
Crais gazed out at Tah, considering the symmetry of his situation. It seemed his last view of his home would be the same as his first.  
  
"So," said Kender hopefully, "another landing in the swamps, for old-times sake?"  
  
"I'm afraid not," Bialar replied, sadly. "We're coming in too steep. I'm dumping fuel and using the docking thrusters to buy some time, but that's all. In about a quarter-arn we'll be in the atmosphere."  
  
"Frell," said Kender, visibly wilting. "I'll never get to take Reena and the boys on that vacation... I can't even say goodbye."  
  
Fury welled up within Crais.  
  
"No!" he shouted, "I will not let it end like this! Think... THINK! There must be a way!"  
  
Suddenly, he straightened. "Kender, get up! There's something... it's not certain, but it's a chance!"  
  
It took nearly all the time they had, but finally Crais aligned the pod and shouted, "Now!" and Kender opened the sanitary purge valve, expelling the contents of the waste tank propelled by every bit of compressed gas they had been able to bleed into it. But was it enough?  
  
They soon knew it was not. They had delayed the inevitable by another third of an arn, but no more. Their only hope now was rendezvous with another vessel. But few captains would risk it this close to the atmosphere, and they had no comms to coordinate such a rendezvous anyway.  
  
Crais held the transport pod on course and awaited the end. "I'm sorry, Kender," he said.  
  
Kender did not answer, but stared, transfixed, out the view-port. "Look," he whispered; then shouted, "Look!"  
  
Crais looked as a great Leviathan drew alongside, and the transport pod trembled at the gentle embrace of the docking web.  
-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
The transport pod was guided into the cargo bay where it settled imperceptibly to the deck. Within, the sense of relief was so great that neither man was able to stand for a moment. Then Crais assisted Kender to the hatch and down the boarding stairs.  
  
They were met by and obviously anxious young man. "I am Lauron Karsh," he said. "Are you all right? Where is Lyssta... is she injured?"  
  
"If Lyssta is the pilot of this transport pod," answered Crais, "she is not with us. I last saw her just before the explosion. My grandson was showing her the way to the freight offices by way of the baggage bypass tube.  
  
"We took refuge in the pod after the blast. This is Kender Dauscho, the station Cargo Master. He needs medical attention. My name is Bialar Crais. Can you tell me what happened? Are we under attack?"  
  
Lauron spoke quietly into his comm Badge and listened to the muted reply. He looked a Crais and said, "Apparently your station was struck by a single missile from an automated drone, which has, itself, exploded. Your defense forces have scrambled, but I have no other information.   
  
"I'm to take you to the infirmary. The Captain will see you as soon as your injuries have been tended to."  
  
Over his objections, Crais' laceration was cleaned, closed and dressed. Kender's leg required more attention, so he remained behind while Crais was conducted to the Captain's office.  
  
What he had seen of this Leviathan intrigued him. Many Leviathans had been in Peacekeeper service until the latter stages of the war, so it was not surprising to see evidence of that heritage. But it was at once more subtle and more blatant than he would have imagined.  
  
The living and working spaces were fully functional, with all necessary equipment accessible and in good order, but the stark lines of the equipment were softened by subtle colors and decorations. The effect was akin to some of the older family homes on Tah: efficient, yet comfortable and lived in. But in the hanger bay, Crais had seen four Prowlers and two Marauders, gleaming and parked with military precision as if awaiting inspection.  
  
The Captain's office mirrored the contradictions of the ship. Austere, yet elegant, it was done in rare, polished woods. The furniture was sparse and simple in design, but exquisite in craftsmanship. One side seemed to open into a sort of garden, while the other had a wall display of weapons, some primitive and some modern, but all with the patina of use, and clearly clean and ready for action. A separate case held a Luxan Qualta blade, finely wrought and intricately decorated.  
  
Most striking of all was a single small tree. Set on a pedestal, its gnarled branches gave it a sense of great age and power. Crais found it captivating in a strange, abstract way.  
  
"Do you like my Bonsai?" The voice caused him to stiffen as if shot. "It's from Earth. I've had it for a hundred cycles, but it's far older than that."  
  
He turned towards the speaker. She was a tall, straight woman with steel gray hair and piercing blue eyes.  
  
"Aeryn?"  
-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
The last time Crais had heard that voice she had been sending him to what both believed was certain death. He had fully believed that hers was the last living face he would ever see. No amount of time could keep him from recognizing her.  
  
"Bialar Crais," said Aeryn, "I never thought I'd see you again."  
  
"I never thought to see anything again," said Crais, hoarsely . "It seems we owe you our lives. We are in your debt."  
  
Aeryn waved the thought away, "Nonsense. I'm just glad we got there in time. That trick with the waste tank was brilliant. It gave us the time we needed, barely."  
  
"Impending death has always been a powerful stimulant to my ingenuity," replied Crais with a wry smile. "By the way, that young woman, Lyssta, I believe her name is. The one whose transport pod we borrowed. She's a member of your crew?"  
  
"My granddaughter," answered Aeryn. "Her cousin Lauron says she may have been in a bypass tube when the explosion occurred."  
  
"Yes, with my grandson," replied Crais, "Ronlar was showing her a quicker route to the freight offices. They left us shortly before it happened."  
  
"I've been in touch with the Station Master," said Aeryn. "He wants you to know that the damage is limited to the passenger terminal, which was nearly empty at the time of the explosion, so casualties are relatively light. He also said that two life-signs were detected in a section of the bypass tube just before it was caught in the wake of a Leviathan that starburst away in panic. Moya is following the track of that starburst. We'll find them."  
  
"Speaking of Moya," Aeryn continued, "Pilot says she is pleased and honored that you chose to name your son after her offspring."  
  
"I couldn't let his name die," said Crais. "He saved my life that day, and I missed him so. My son has a twin brother, Tauvo, named after my brother. Ronlar is Tauvo's son," his voice grew heavy with emotion.  
  
"I told you, we're going to find them," said Aeryn, gently touching his face, "alive! I promise you! Now you get some rest. Lauron will take you to your quarters. You'll find comms there for yourself and Kender Dauscho."  
-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
Ronlar gazed at the stars. The constellations were unchanged, except for the presence of one very bright new star in the midst of an otherwise familiar grouping.  
  
"I think I know about where we are, for all the good it will do us," he said. "What happened to us, anyway? How did we get here?"  
  
Lyssta looked up from the makeshift emergency beacon she was assembling. "I think we were caught in the wake of a Leviathan entering starburst," she said. "Starburst creates a local distortion in space and objects can be pulled into that distortion. Depending on their size and how close they are to the Leviathan, they may follow it through to normal space, or drop out along the way, usually in very small pieces. Since we're alive, I suspect we made the whole trip."  
  
Ronlar nodded, remembering the sudden disorientation that had swept over him immediately following the explosion. "So, where's the Leviathan; won't it know we're here?" he asked.  
  
"Not likely," Lyssta replied. "That explosion must have scared the dren out of it. It jumped and ran, and I doubt it was paying any attention to much of anything else."  
  
Ronlar grunted and sat down on a large bag that had spilled from an automated baggage tram that was in the tube when the explosion occurred. "You know," he said, "we've actually been pretty lucky. There's enough air here for several days and these suits we found by the airlock can extend that for maybe 12 arns, and there are the parts you scavenged from the tram's control system that you're using to build your beacon. How's that coming, anyway?"  
  
"Almost done," she replied, "another arn, more or less."  
  
"Then I'll see if there's anything else on the tram we can use." Said Ronlar.  
  
Lyssta smiled at him. "Good hunting," she said, and returned to her work.  
  
Presently she called out, "Ronlar, I'm finished. Have you had any luck?"  
  
"Oh yes," he grinned. "This is a re-supply tram for an outgoing liner." He began stacking items in front of her. "We have the latest periodicals for your reading pleasure, brochures describing the exotic attractions at the romantic ports of call along the route, and a case of entertainment disks for the in-cabin systems in first class."  
  
Lyssta picked up a handful of brochures and looked at Ronlar as if he'd lost his mind.  
  
"Oh, yes," said Ronlar, "I also found self-heating meal trays, and a generous supply of blankets. The..." Ronlar ducked as Lyssta threw the handful of brochures at his head.  
  
"Hey!" he yelped, "We can use those for extra insulation. It's going to get cold in here, you know. And if you crumple them up until they're really soft, you can use them for... other things."  
  
"What about the entertainment disks?" asked Lyssta.  
  
"I suppose we could play catch with them," said Ronlar, "but I'm more interested in the case they were packed in. If we put your beacon inside, it'll be less likely to be damaged when we take it outside."  
  
"Oh," said Lyssta quietly, "good idea."  
-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
Two arns later they were back inside, having set up the beacon.  
  
"Hungry?" asked Ronlar.  
  
"Starving!" replied Lyssta.  
  
Ronlar selected two food trays and pulled the heating tabs. While the meals were heating he and Lyssta arranged baggage and blankets to create an insulated nest where they could minimize heat loss. When they finally settled in to eat, Ronlar produced two bottles of fellip nectar.  
  
"I found a case with the food trays," he said in response to Lyssta's questioning look. "I'd say we've earned it, wouldn't you?"  
  
"I'd say so," Lyssta answered, accepting a bottle and raising it in his direction. "Good health!" she offered.  
  
"Long life!" Ronlar returned, "But truthfully, I'd be happy just to be out of here."  
  
"Me, too." Replied Lyssta, "Not that I mind the company," she added with a smile. "Don't worry Ronlar. My people won't give up. They'll find us."  
  
"I hope you're right, Lyssta. I hope you're right."  
  
The two finished their meal in silence. Then, exhausted by the day's events and drowsy from the fellip nectar, they crawled into their nest, pulled the covers over themselves, and instantly fell asleep.  
  
Twelve arns later Ronlar awoke to find Lyssta quietly regarding him. "Ronlar," she asked, "your last name-- Crais. How do you come by it?"  
  
"My grandfather is Bialar Crais," answered Ronlar, "one of the great heroes of the Draegen War. He has two sons, Talyn and Tauvo. I am Tauvo's youngest son."  
  
"Bialar Crais," mused Lyssta, "Can you tell me about him, and the war. I know a little about your history, but I'd like to learn more."  
  
"I'd be happy to," replied Ronlar. "My grandfather crash landed in the swamps over a hundred cycles ago..."  
  
Lyssta listened intently as Ronlar told the story of his grandfather and the Draegen war. Even allowing for hero worship on Ronlar's part, Bialar Crais sounded like an impressive man. If he had done half of what Ronlar attributed to him, he deserved the title of Hero, and then some.  
  
"And there you have it," said Ronlar.  
  
"What about before he came to Tah?" asked Lyssta.  
  
"It's not our custom to ask about what folk did before the war. I know he was a farm boy, conscripted into the military, but that's about it. He never really talks about it. I'm sure my Grandmother knew more. Her brother Ke'air may also know, but if he does, he keeps it to himself."  
  
"But what if he had done something horrible?" asked Lyssta.  
  
"Lyssta," said Ronlar, "fewer than one in a thousand survived to rebuild our world. We couldn't afford to worry about people's pasts. We feel that whatever they may have done in that past, they have redeemed themselves in our eyes. Whether or not they believe in that redemption themselves is a private matter."  
  
Lyssta sat quietly for a moment. "Your grandfather sounds like a remarkable man'" she said, "I hope I get a chance to meet him."  
  
"You already have," said Ronlar, grinning. "He was the distinguished looking gentleman with gray hair and a beard you almost knocked over in the terminal."  
  
"That was Bialar Crais?" said Lyssta. "I hope he's still alive."  
  
"I'd be surprised if he isn't. He's a survivor," replied Ronlar.  
  
"Now that," said Lyssta, half to her self, "has got to be the understatement of the age."  
  
Ronlar wondered what she meant, but she did not elaborate.  
  
A thorough inspection of the tube turned up nothing further of value. Supplies were inventoried and things generally put in order. One might almost have called the accommodations pleasant, but for the increasing cold and limited oxygen supply. They slept that "night" huddled together for warmth.  
  
"So," said Ronlar the next day over breakfast, "I've told you my story, now tell me yours. Who are you, Lyssta Delam? What's your family history?"  
  
"Well," said Lyssta, "the short version is that I'm third generation in a family started by an explorer and an ex-military pilot. We trade and transport cargo and are opening new routes into this sector. We hope to establish a permanent operations center in the region."  
  
"And the long version," prompted Ronlar.  
  
Lyssta thought for a moment and said, "I guess it all began with a prison break..."  
-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
Crais was resting in the guest quarters assigned him. Before Moya moved out of comm range he had spoken to Talyn. The news was not good. Fifty-three confirmed dead or missing; twenty-two with injuries, mostly minor. That was the way of disasters in space-you're either OK, or your dead. Still, it could have been much worse.  
  
Since then, he'd tried to stay out of the way and let Moya's crew get on with the search. It was odd to see the passageways and compartments so full of busy people... over six hundred where once there had been fewer than ten.  
  
"Captain Crais," the voice came from the comm.  
  
"Pilot, is that you?" Crais asked.  
  
"Yes," came the reply. "It's good to have you aboard."  
  
"Thank you, Pilot," said Crais, "but I haven't gone by that title for well over a hundred cycles."  
  
"How should I address you, then?" Pilot asked.  
  
"Well, at the university I was usually addressed as 'professor', when honorifics seemed necessary," replied Crais.  
  
"Professor," Said Pilot, "Aeryn would like you to join her for a meal. The DRDs can guide you."  
  
"Thank you, pilot," replied Crais. "Tell her that I would be honored."  
  
An oddly colored DRD was waiting for him in the corridor, and led the way to a private dining area.  
  
"I can scarcely recognize Moya," said Crais, savoring a hot beverage after the meal. You seem to be doing well.  
  
"Yes," said Aeryn, "we've had more than our share of success. Once John got Pilot to understand that he and Moya are our partners instead of our servants, they helped us recruit other Leviathans to work with us. With the winding down of the Scarran wars, and the release of captured Leviathans by the Peacekeepers, others followed our lead. John later proposed the creation of a mutual cooperation association he called a "Hanseatic League". The idea has been slow to catch on, but it seems to be working."  
  
"I see," said Crais, "and Crichton is..."  
  
"John died about twelve cycles ago," said Aeryn.   
  
"You have my sympathy," said Crais. "I lost my wife five cycles ago. She was the best part of me, and a blessing far beyond any I deserved."  
  
"We've both been blessed," said Aeryn, "He really did quite well for a human, about one hundred sixty cycles.   
  
"It seems the short human lifespan is due to a simple metabolic deficiency. If treatment had been started before puberty, he could have lived a normal lifespan. As it was he was healthy and vigorous to the end. Very vigorous," she added with a smile. "I wouldn't trade the hundred twenty-five cycles we spent together for two lifetimes with anyone else."  
  
"You had children?" asked Crais.  
  
"Oh yes," replied Aeryn. "Three sons and four daughters, and, of course, a growing brood of grand and great-grandchildren.  
  
"Speaking of which," she continued, "Kender Dauscho has examined the debris we've brought aboard from the Leviathan's wake. He's identified nothing that would have been inside the missing bypass tube."  
  
"So they may have made the trip intact?" asked Crais.  
  
"I think it's likely," said Aeryn. "Anyway, we've reached the area where the starburst ended and are beginning our search. It shouldn't be long now."  
-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
"Let me get this straight," said Ronlar, interrupting, "your grandfather arrived by accident from a low-tech planet and was captured by escaped prisoners along with your grandmother, who had been trying to recapture them.  
  
"He helps her escape, but her ruthless commanding officer blames your grandfather for his brother's death, which was really an accident. This officer then declares your grandmother "Irreversibly Contaminated", which carries a death sentence, and imprisons her along with your grandfather and one of the escaped prisoners.  
  
"Your grandfather then overpowers the guards and the three rejoin the other escapees aboard the prison ship. This maniac then chases them, against orders, until HIS bosses order him to stand trial for dereliction of duty and give his command to a Scarran-Sebacean half-breed. Realizing he's as good as dead, he steals a transport and throws himself on the mercy of his former quarries.  
  
"They take him in, but he steals a unique Leviathan gunship that happens to be Moya's son. Finally he and his ship sacrifice themselves to save Moya and the others from this Scorpius character.  
  
"Is that the gist of it?"  
  
"That's about right," said Lyssta.  
  
"This commanding officer sounds certifiably insane," said Ronlar.  
  
"Perhaps," said Lyssta, "but we honor him for his sacrifice. Without him most of us wouldn't even exist. His name was Bialar Crais."  
  
Ronlar sat, stunned.  
  
"Breathe, Ronlar, breathe," said Lyssta with a smile, "you look like a..."  
  
A burst of static from her comm interrupted her, "Lyssta, Lyssta Delam, do you hear me?"  
  
Joy exploded across her face. "Pilot!" she answered, "Pilot, I hear you... Ronlar, they're here!"  
-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
Two arns later a transport pod arrived with Lauron Karsh at the controls. Kender Dauscho was with him. After Lyssta and Ronlar were safely aboard, Lauron and Kender began spirited discussion about salvage rights and recovery fees.  
  
Ronlar and Lyssta looked at the negotiators, then at each other. Lyssta rolled her eyes and Ronlar smothered a chuckle.  
  
Lyssta stood and moved towards the two men, who were oblivious to her presence. "Excuse me," she said, "excuse me... LAURON!"  
  
Lauron and Kender both jumped.  
  
"Now that I have your attention, cousin, I'd like to point out that the two of us have been in these frelling suits for over two solar days. I don't know about me, but he's starting to smell like a dead drannit. I need a cleanup, fresh clothes, and a dentic. In short, I want to go home! Now! Please?"  
  
"Uh, sure, Lyss," said Lauron meekly. "So, Kender, standard rates?"  
  
"Certainly, Lauron," replied Kender. "Submit the bill to my office." He looked back at Ronlar and Lyssta with a faint smile and muttered something that sounded like, "Spoilsports."  
  
Lyssta nodded in satisfaction and sat down.  
  
"I'm impressed," whispered Ronlar. "By the way, what's a drannit?"  
  
Lyssta shushed him with a gesture and mouthed, "Later."  
  
After arriving on Moya, Lyssta took Ronlar aside and said, "I don't know what I would have done without you. I was so scared, if you hadn't been so calm, I'd have... What's so funny?"  
  
Ronlar controlled his laughter with difficulty, wiping tears from his eyes. "Sorry," he said, "it's just that, there I was, alone with a beautiful woman, and I was so sick with worry that all I could think about was staying alive. Your refusal to quit and your faith in your people were the only things I had to hang on to."  
  
"Well, thank you anyway," said Lyssta. She pulled his head forward and gave him a gentle kiss. "There's nothing to be worried about now," she added with a smile.  
  
She turned, and Ronlar watched her walk away with a stunned expression on his face. "Breathe, Ronlar," he said to himself, "breathe."  
-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
A half-cycle later, in the newly re-opened passenger terminal, Bialar Crais looked out across the banquet from the secluded table he shared with Aeryn Sun. He had shuttled up to the station that day in response to her invitation and was happy to see her again.  
  
In the monens following the station disaster he had spent nearly every waking moment either organizing backing for the station rebuilding and expansion program, or lobbying members of the assembly to authorize and fund a comprehensive upgrade in the system defenses.  
  
Aeryn had assigned some of her people to help the station personnel and to set up temporary facilities to handle the Leviathan traffic. That done, she enlisted a small cadre from Tah, Ronlar among them, and undertook an extensive voyage through the sector to scout out markets and new trade items. Her returns to Tah Station were few and brief, and they'd had no time to visit.  
  
Now it was time for Moya to return to her home base. Aeryn would be transporting a trade delegation with members representing Tah and the major worlds in the sector along with samples of various sector goods and artwork. In turn, some of Moya's crew would remain to staff a regional trade office on the station. Everyone was excited about the possibilities and Tah and its Station were giving the voyagers a proper send-off. There was the expected phalanx of dignitaries, and a crowd of well-wishers. There had been a few speeches and the usual ceremonial presentations, but now people had gotten down to the more important task of bidding farewell to family and to new-found friends.  
  
"I understand we'll be seeing you on a regular basis," he said.  
  
"Yes," replied Aeryn, "twice a cycle for now; more after the new terminal is completed."  
  
"Talyn told me you'd offered to help fund the Leviathan terminal," said Crais, "in return for 'considerations.'"  
  
"I'd like a permanent base out here, and Tah is far and away the best location," said Aeryn. "Lauron Karsh and Kender Dauscho have had an indecent amount of fun negotiating the terms."  
  
Crais laughed and shook his head. "I'd never thought to hear you talking like a merchant, Aeryn," he said. "As I recall, your negotiating style usually involved at least the threat of weapons fire."  
  
"Why do you think I let Lauron handle the negotiations?" Aeryn said, grinning. "Seriously, we all change, Bialar. Life changes us. I never imagined you as a teacher."  
  
"Fate has lead us to unexpected destinations," said Crais, then asked, "What became of the others? Are they well?"  
  
"They've gone their own ways," Aeryn replied.  
  
"D'Argo and his son, Jothee, never reconciled, to D'Argo's undying regret. He eventually joined one of the newer Luxan colonies, married a local, and became a moderately prosperous farmer.  
  
"The Scarrans briefly occupied the planet during the war and D'Argo joined the resistance. He acquitted himself well. He was, in fact, their best and most successful commander. After the Scarrans pulled back he was officially given the rank of general to go along with the tattoos he had from before.  
  
"After the war he served in several military and advisory capacities as well as on the planetary council, which he twice headed. Before finally retiring to his farm he was the planetary representative to the Luxan High Council, where he was highly regarded.  
  
"The Qualta blade in my office was a gift from D'Argo and his world in appreciation of our help running weapons and supplies past the Scarran blockade. Of course, Luxans don't live much longer than humans, and D'Argo's been gone for some time. We keep in touch with his family, however, and do business with them."  
  
"What about Joolushko and Chiana?"  
  
"Jool went back to her people and became an archeologist. She's highly respected for her ongoing work on Arnesk," said Aeryn.  
  
"Chiana left suddenly, saying she was going to meet Neri. I don't really know what's become of her, but reports are that the Nebari hierarchy is having unusual difficulties with the resistance."  
  
"Hmm," said Crais, "from what I know of the Nebari, that may not be a bad thing for the rest of us. And what of Dominar Rygel? Still dreaming of regaining his throne?"  
  
"Rygel?" said Aeryn, "Now that's a story! He discovered that the empire was in rebellion and that his cousin,  
Bishan the Usurper, had fled the capital. He hurried home to reclaim his birthright, and barely escaped with his life! It seems that the rebels had declared a republic and were cheerfully beheading any members of the Royal Family they could get their hands on."  
  
"Poor Rygel!" said Crais, laughing.  
  
"'Poor,' my eema!" snorted Aeryn. "He's indecently, no, obscenely rich! He publicly renounced all claims to the throne and became one of the Republics most vocal supporters. Soon after, he published his memoirs, which became a best seller. He then took the royalties and started a luxury import-export business catering to the newly rich and upper-middle class. He also marketed his own brand of gourmet foods, 'Dominar's Own', or some such dren as that.  
  
"Now he's into resorts and casinos. He's got all the servants and concubines he wants and can do pretty much whatever he wants. Also, he doesn't have to worry nearly as much about assassination as if he were a head of state.  
  
"There's even a rumor that he's salvaged the Zelbinion and is converting it into an exclusive gambling resort and cruise ship."  
  
At this, Crais could only shake his head in wonder.  
  
"By the way," he said, "Ronlar told me you offered him a berth as assistant cargo officer on this run."  
  
"I was impressed by his performance as liaison on the tour of the sector ports," said Aeryn. "He's easy to work with, and has a cool head in a crisis. I think he'll fit in well."  
  
"Has he accepted?"  
  
"He's promised to give me an answer tonight. He said there were some personal matters he wanted to settle first."  
  
"Speaking of my grandson, there he is now," said Crais   
  
Ronlar stood near the doorway, looking around. Across the room, Lyssta stood and waved at him enthusiastically. He moved to join her and her fellow revelers, but didn't take the offered seat. Instead he reached inside his tunic and withdrew a finely wrought silver bracelet. Then, kneeling, he offered it to Lyssta with a trembling hand.  
  
Lyssta sat stock-still for a microt, then took the bracelet and, with a glorious smile, placed it on her wrist, nodding vigorously. Ronlar jumped to his feet and they embraced, to the cheers of their friends.  
  
"Well, frell me dead!" said Aeryn, "I think I just got my answer."  
  
"Do you think Crichton would approve?" asked Crais.  
  
"I think he'd be delighted," Aeryn replied.  
  
"One of my greatest regrets," said Crais, "is that Crichton, the one who lived, never fully trusted me; could never see me as a friend. I had wronged him, wronged you, all of you too deeply."  
  
"Yes, Bialar," Aeryn said gently, "you did wrong us. But look at the fruit that wrong has born. All of this," she gestured towards the crowd, "My life with Crichton, our family and yours, this very world. Would you consign all this to oblivion to right that wrong?  
  
"I said before that life changes us. It is a journey that takes us from what we were to what we will become. We can't change our past, Bialar. All we can do is accept responsibility for it and learn to live with and from it.   
  
"It was your past that prepared you for what you had to do here. It's part of who you have become, and I like the man you've become, Bialar. I know John would be proud to call you his friend."  
  
Crais looked back over the banquet to where the newly betrothed couple was sharing drinks and fellowship with their friends. He pondered the scope of his own journey and wondered what the future would bring to them. Then Lauron called for all to fill their cups and began to sing:  
  
Should old acquaintance be forgot,  
And never brought to mind?  
Should old acquaintance be forgot,  
And Auld Lang Syne?  
  
As the others took up the song, he turned to Aeryn, who had filled their cups, as well.  
  
"What song is that?" he asked.  
  
"It's an old song of friendship and remembrance from Earth," said Aeryn. "John said it was sung to celebrate the beginning of the new solar cycle on Earth. He began our tradition of using it at times of parting. It's called 'Auld Lang Syne'. Listen:"  
  
We two have paddled in the brook,  
From morning sun 'til dine.  
But seas between us broad have roared,  
Since Auld Lang Syne.  
  
"Auld Lang Syne", "Bygone Times"... Crais wondered if the author could have imagined what distant shores his words would reach, or how vast a gulf they would cross in doing so.  
  
As the song continued, he looked back across the gulf of time that separated him from his past self. That man could not have imagined the changes that awaited him.  
  
He turned to Aeryn and took the cup she had filled for him. Below them, the crowd sang:  
  
And surely you'll lift up your glass,  
And surely I'll lift mine.  
And We'll take a cup of kindness yet,  
For Auld Lang Syne.  
  
"It's true," said Crais, "we can never outrun our past, nor should we try."  
  
He raised his cup towards Aeryn, and she raised hers.  
  
"Good health," he offered.  
  
"Long life," she returned.  
  
"Have a safe voyage, and take care of my grandson, Aeryn."  
  
"I'll watch over him like he was family, Bialar."   
  
Both laughed and drained their cups as the voices swelled:  
  
For Auld Lang Syne, my dear,  
For Auld Lang Syne.  
We'll take a cup of kindness yet,  
For Auld Lang Syne.  
  
THE END.  
  
Appendix:  
  
I took some liberties with the wording of the song for esthetic purposes. In that I am hardly alone. Many versions of this work exist. For those who are interested, here is the actual poem by Burns and an early translation:  
  
Auld Lang Syne   
Scottish Version   
- Poem by Robert Burns, 1788  
  
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,   
And never brought to mind?   
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,   
And auld lang syne!   
  
Chorus:-For auld lang syne, my dear,  
For auld lang syne.   
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,   
For auld lang syne.   
  
We twa hae run about the braes,   
And pou'd the gowans fine;   
But we've wander'd mony a weary fit,   
Sin' auld lang syne.   
  
For auld, &c.   
  
We twa hae paidl'd in the burn,   
Frae morning sun till dine;   
But seas between us braid hae roar'd   
Sin' auld lang syne.   
  
For auld, &c.   
  
And there's a hand, my trusty fere!   
And gie's a hand o' thine!   
And we'll tak a right gude-willie waught,   
For auld lang syne.   
  
For auld, &c.   
  
And surely ye'll be your pint stowp!   
And surely I'll be mine!   
And we'll tak a cup o'kindness yet,   
For auld lang syne.   
  
For auld, &c.  
  
------------------  
  
Auld Lang Syne  
tr. William Curran  
  
Should old acquaintance be forgot,  
And never brought to mind;  
Should old acquaintance be forgot,  
And days of old lang syne.   
  
For old lang syne, my dear,  
For old lang syne,  
We'll take a cup of kindness yet,  
For old lang syne.   
  
We two have run about the hills,  
And pulled the daisies fine.  
We've wandered many a weary foot,  
Since old lang syne.   
  
We two have paddled in the burn [Stream],  
From morning sun till dine,  
But seas between us broad have roared,  
Since old lang syne.   
  
And here's a hand my trusty friend,  
And put your hand in mine.  
We'll take a right good-willie waught [Drink],  
For old lang syne.   
  
And surely you'll lift up your glass,  
For surely I'll lift mine,  
And we'll drink a cup of kindness yet,  
For old lang syne. 


End file.
